The Bittersweet Between
by IcelandGirl812
Summary: A collection of assorted drabbles and oneshots for Round 7 of the Twilight Twenty-Five Challenge. Rated M because of things that will probably happen.
1. 01: Blood is thicker than water

**Kicking this off with the first prompt, because I like how orderly that is but also because it was finished. Thanks to sweetest Lisa for sharing her thoughts and to my dearest Posh for her help.**

**Disclaimer: SMeyer owns Twilight; I'm just diddling with her characters in my own words.**

The Twilight Twenty-Five  
thetwilight25 dot com  
Prompt: 01 – Blood is thicker than water.  
Pen Name: IcelandGirl812  
Pairing/Character(s): Edward/Bella  
Rating: T

* * *

**01.**

Her arm is draped through his, elbow-length gloves covering too much of her skin.

Her dress is tight, making her body appear far longer than it should.

Her hair falls halfway down her torso, filled with loose waves and careless curls. All of which is in direct opposition to the current fashions.

It's a pity her mind is so empty.

She might have been interesting to play with otherwise.

I wait while they head toward me, wait while he brushes off her murmured concerns of dark alleys.

He should have listened to her.

Again, pity.

Still, I wait until they're far enough in, until everything is dark and there's no turning back.

Not for them, and certainly not for me.

His scream is surprising, when it comes; it's even louder than hers.

I pause to inhale, to take him in, to breathe in the delicious scent of his fear. His blood pumps furiously. I can feel it against my hand where I hold him, can hear it as the wet sounds hit my ears.

Mostly, I can _smell_ it.

Before my teeth can get close enough, something is on my back. Something warm.

I loosen my hold on him, perplexed as the woman clings onto my back and flails about, screeching and grunting and making all other kinds of odd noises.

She's not hurting me, not in the least. More of the damage is on her, feeble fingertips reddening where she's trying to scratch me, bruises no doubt on their way to forming where her soft skin collides with my stone body, hard shoulders and solid waist.

And there's no telling how ripped and ruined her dress has become.

I stand up and shake her off without effort, watching humorlessly as she lands on the ground, fragile human head hitting the concrete with a faint _thud_.

I'd planned on only one tonight, but she's forced me into changing that.

No matter.

I've got room.

Sparing only a glance at all the pale flesh of her now-exposed legs, I advance toward the man once again.

Fast is too easy, too boring. Too quick.

So my steps are slow, human speed.

It draws something out, something more. Because they know I'm not human, their bodies and their nature sense the monster of mine, react and revolt against it on instinct.

But I _look_ human. I _walk_ human.

The confusion amplifies their fear, their adrenaline, rushes their blood so fast I often wonder how they remain standing.

"No!" The woman has struggled upright, pushes herself in front of the man.

In front of _me_.

Her face is bleeding, blood dripping down one cheek, down her neck. Toward her breasts. The scent is so strong she must be bleeding elsewhere.

That scent...

It's the most potent, intoxicating, delectable thing I've ever known. It smells sweet and full, luscious and captivating, promising satisfaction and ecstasy.

I close my eyes and draw it in completely, luxuriating in the way it caresses all my senses, beyond anything I've ever encountered.

I can hear her heart pumping. More than that, I _feel_ her blood calling me, tempting me, singing to me.

Yet I hear nothing else.

Nothing of her.

Generally, I don't intrude into the thoughts of my prey. I don't want to know what they're thinking in that moment, how they see me. It's worrisome, bothersome, takes away the fun.

But behind her, I listen to the man, who's a frightened ball of adrenaline and anxiety, jumbled chaos in his frazzled mind. In other words, _normal_.

Five stories up, I can hear a man debating over two women he wants, wondering if the tobacco he's inhaling will keep getting more and more expensive.

And still, nothing from her.

She must sense my hesitation, must see how I slow and stare at her.

"Please! Take me," she swallows, "and do whatever you want with me. Just don't hurt him."

I flick my eyes over her shoulder, note the age difference for the first time, the similar eyes, the same shape of mouth.

"Don't hurt him. Please."

I pause entirely, begin to think, to wonder.

Begin to devise.

"You'll... give yourself? In place of him?"

It doesn't escape my notice that it's the first time I've spoken. Judging by how her chest rises and falls at a more rapid pace—her heart pumping miraculously faster—she notices, too.

Though I can't hear her thought-process, she doesn't spend even an extra second before she's agreeing.

"Yes. Yes, as long as no harm comes to him."

She doesn't spare a glance at him, and I can't help but wonder if she can't bear to, if she'd lose her resolve and her bravery if she were to see him. If she were to watch him huddling against the wall like a spineless coward while his daughter traded herself for him.

I narrow my eyes, studying her more closely, annoyed at how intriguing I seem to find her. Her silent mind, her courage, her enticing scent. Her loyalty, however blind.

"Very well." I straighten from the predatory almost-crouch I'd been in, raise my eyebrows expectantly.

I'm curious as to how she thinks this will play out, as to how she sees me.

She hasn't bothered to wipe any blood off, and her trembling lip spreads a few drops as she turns away from me, turns to face the man slumped and crying against the brick.

"Bella..." is all her father manages to say before he passes out.

She moves as if to go to him, but I can hear—in my head and with my ears—the first sounds of a commotion starting up, not even a block away.

We've drawn attention; we're out of time. At least if I want a clean trail.

I grab her before she's made a single step, swing her up into my arms and dart farther into the alley. I have to get her home, have to stop her bleeding, have to figure something out.

Before I lose control.


	2. 08: Youth is wasted on the young

**Thanks to Cherolyn and Lisa for reading, sharing thoughts, and encouraging just by being. I love y'all infinitely.**

**I own the words, SMeyer owns the characters.  
**

The Twilight Twenty-Five  
thetwilight25 dot com  
Prompt: 08 – Youth is wasted on the young.  
Pen Name: IcelandGirl812  
Pairing/Character(s): Mrs. Cope  
Rating: K, I guess.

* * *

**08.**

She watches from two tables over.

They're laughing, giggling. Kissing. They don't seem to have a care in the world.

She's jealous. Envious. She wants that.

No, she wants it _back_.

She wants to go back to before, when she did that. When she _could _do that.

She wants to be carefree again, to forget some of the things she knows. To be less cynical and jaded.

That's not for her, though. Not anymore. She has responsibilities, realities to face daily.

But for just a few minutes more, she allows herself to watch the untroubled couple and remember. To reminisce.


	3. 21: Two's company, three's a crowd

**Lisa and Cherolyn are the bestest and sweetest and their help and thoughts are invaluable.**

**SMeyer owns Twilight, I just own copies and these words.  
**

The Twilight Twenty-Five  
thetwilight25 dot com  
Prompt: 21 – Two's company, three's a crowd.  
Pen Name: IcelandGirl812  
Pairing/Character(s): Edward/Bella  
Rating: T

* * *

**21.**

There's always someone left out. It's the nature of things.

She has her boyfriend; he has her.

I have no one.

At least, that's what she thinks.

She doesn't know what goes on when she's distracted. She doesn't see the way he watches me, or how close we stand. She doesn't see his hand under the table, fingers warm on my thigh. She doesn't know about our stolen kisses when she's in the bathroom.

She doesn't know how awful I am, or how I'm betraying her.

She doesn't know that I'm in love with her boyfriend.

But neither does he.


	4. 25: If at first you don't succeed

**Determined to have more than a single oneshot for this round! And this oneshot equals success, hehe. Endless thanks to Cherolyn and Lisa for prereading and fixing and just being overall lovely.**

**I don't own Twilight, but I own this.**

The Twilight Twenty-Five  
thetwilight25 dot com  
Prompt: 25 – If at first you don't succeed, try, try again.  
Pen Name: IcelandGirl812  
Pairing/Character(s): Edward/Bella  
Rating: M (cause... language.)

* * *

**25.**

My fingers tap away swiftly on the keys, moving on instinct and habit, without me having to think about which to hit. My nails are painted a bright red, but they're cut short for exactly this reason. The fast rhythm of my fingers and the accompanying sound is both soothing and energizing.

I'm close. I know I'm close.

I've lost track of how many of their firewalls I've gotten through, but I know I'm edging ever closer. I have to be.

My phone rings from its place beside me on the desk. Absently, I flick my wrist over to answer it.

"Hello?" I say into the microphone of the headset I'm wearing. Efficiency matters here, after all. Even seconds count, and I can't spare the hand it would take to hold my phone, either.

A lilting, smirking voice greets me, and I freeze—from my fingers to my blood.

"'Lo, darling."

I curse myself for not checking the ID before answering, although I know it wouldn't have shown anything to indicate who was really calling. Not with him.

"I always loved your stubborn streak." His voice is something unidentifiable, possibly British, Irish, Scottish, any number of possibilities. That's what I hate most about it, that it's intriguing and fascinating.

And, fuck, sexy as hell.

A faceless, bodiless voice had never been sexy until him, until 'Cullensly'.

Damn him.

"How many tries does this make it?" he continues.

"Five," I grind out, my fingers still frozen above my keyboard.

"Oh now, I think it's more like nine, Cinder, don't you?"

I ignore that. "How did you get this number?"

"That's for me to know."

"I'm going to find out."

"Oh, I'm counting on it." The smirk in his voice grows more pronounced. "Come find me, babe."

The lines goes dead just as code starts flowing rapidly across my screen and all the progress I'd made fades to void.

I grab the closest thing, a soda can, and hurl it at the wall. It doesn't make a satisfying noise at all, but my scream does. I pull the headset off my head a little too roughly and drop it on my desk; I'm lucky it doesn't break.

I imagine his voice, him laughing at me, and kick my chair.

"Fuck!" In the heat of my raging moment, I'd forgotten I was barefoot and now my foot is throbbing.

Just another thing I can put on his head.

_I'd like to put a price on his head_.

The idea is charming, but I know it's only a product of my anger. I have a wee bit of an anger issue, which is how I got into computers in the first place. One therapist had tried simulations and other computerized techniques, and I'd been hooked ever since.

As my temper begins to fade, my brain kicks back in.

How could he have found my number? I'm careful. Overly careful. Paranoid-careful.

I pick up my phone, taking a shot in the dark. Sure enough, there's a record of his call in my log, not just an unknown.

Sitting back down, I start to formulate a plan. It's a half-assed plan, but it's all I have right now.

I put my headset back on and hit _send_ on the number.

It rings three times before he answers.

"If this is your way to try and find me, darling, you're gonna have to do better than that."

Every time we've ever talked, he's started out with 'darling' before going to 'babe'. It's never failed.

I try to summon some annoyance at that, and at the fact that I recognize it, too.

"Do you think I can't find you this way?"

"I think you're not stupid. I think you know probably every single one of the measures I've implemented to keep this number untraceable."

I narrow my eyes at thin air. "And I think you'd know I'd have the same measures to keep my number hidden."

"Ahhh." I picture the man I've imagined to go with his voice—dark, dark hair, blue eyes, sharp features, rangy body—leaning back in a desk chair, folding his arms behind his head. "So are you trying some kind of reverse to get me to give up my secrets?"

It's quiet a beat. I don't know if he expects me to answer, but I don't. I'm not giving up any of my own secrets, or my plans, to him.

His voice drops, lower and rougher. "I'm not giving all my secrets to you, babe."

"I wouldn't want you to."

"Mmm, I bet you wouldn't."

I pause, lick my lips and try to find some vulnerable hesitance in my voice. "Maybe I just wanted to hear your voice."

"Did you?"

"And if I did?" I'm trying to add a little breathiness in my voice, a little more femininity. Flirting.

He laughs, and it's the same sound I'd imagined earlier. Except maybe it's a little more pleasant than that. "I'd have to call bullshit on you."

"You don't think I'd want to hear your voice?"

"Oh no," his voice lowers again, "I think you would."

"But?" I'm impatient for him to get to his point, and aiming to hide that with a layer shyness in my voice.

"But I don't think you'd have the guts to say it out loud."

This time my pause is not orchestrated and not part of my plan.

"What?" I say it slow, over-articulating the word, attempting to control my anger and stop my teeth from grinding.

"Ooh, hit a nerve, did I?" The smirk is back in his voice.

"You think I'm some kind of _coward_?"

"I think you have plenty of guts to try and hack my system, and I think you're good. I just think I'm better."

My hands are curled around the arms of my chair; they're starting to ache from the fierce grip. "You—"

"And I think I like getting you riled up."

I reel in my anger, let it morph into cold steel in my voice. "I don't know what kind of game you think you're playing, but—"

He interrupts again, cutting me off neatly. "Just the game you know we both enjoy."

I start to speak, but numbers and letters pop onto my computer screen, startling me.

"I'll never get tired of your determination, so you're welcome to try again at getting past my walls." There's a faint sound, like he's shifting in his seat. "But, if you're bored, try this."

More numbers and letters join the first.

"Come find me, Cinder. I'll be waiting for you."

The connection goes dead, just like before and just like always when it comes to 'Cullensly'. The numbers and letters remain, a stark contrast standing out against the backdrop of my screen. I stare at them, concentrating, studying, analyzing.

_Coordinates?_


	5. 10: Curiosity killed the cat

**A few things: 1) I own this, not Twilight. 2) Lisa and Cherolyn are sweet and helpful and just lovely and 3) I love them.**

The Twilight Twenty-Five  
thetwilight25 dot com  
Prompt: 10 – Curiosity killed the cat.  
Pen Name: IcelandGirl812  
Pairing/Character(s): Edward, Charlie  
Rating: K

* * *

**10.**

"I just want to see where she lives," Edward explains, thinking of the girl he has a crush on.

"Why can't you ask her out like a normal person?"

Edward resists punching his best friend Jasper and doesn't answer that.

They're in Edward's car, but with him riding shotgun so he has the best view.

As they come to her house, Bella's father, Chief of Police Swan, is heading for his mailbox. His gaze locks on the slow-moving car and the boy staring at his house with his face out the window. Chief Swan visibly narrows his eyes.

Edward gulps.


	6. 19: Out of sight, out of mind

**Lisa and Cherolyn are invaluable with their perceptiveness and sharingness and wonderfulness. I really can't say that enough.**

The Twilight Twenty-Five  
thetwilight25 dot com  
Prompt: 19 – Out of sight, out of mind.  
Pen Name: IcelandGirl812  
Pairing/Character(s): Bella  
Rating: K

* * *

**19.**

The box is suffocating.

Six sides, caging her in. Trapping her.

Now that she's noticed the box, recognized it, she can't pretend it's not there.

She moves, the box moves; she walks, it walks with her—never more than a foot away on all sides, always.

But she can't disrupt it. Testing the box, breaking through it...

No.

There's uncertainty in that, too many unknowns.

Too much fear.

The box is familiar, safe in its constricting predictability. Outside, she knows nothing; won't ever, unless she does something.

But she doesn't.

Because the box is made of fear. She is fear.


	7. 14: A chain is only as strong

**Cherolyn and Lisa read for me and share thoughts and put up when I spam them last-minute before a deadline. They're so pretty.**

The Twilight Twenty-Five  
thetwilight25 dot com  
Prompt: 14 – A chain is only as strong as its weakest link.  
Pen Name: IcelandGirl812  
Pairing/Character(s): Edward  
Rating: T

* * *

**14.**

Father Masen sees her as he's returning the communion chalices to their proper places after a washing. She's walking away from him, yet in the same direction he's going—the altar.

He watches her, hips swaying, lean legs quietly shifting against each other, curves in motion, long hair bouncing slightly against her back.

The things he pictures, the way he pictures her, what he pictures her doing...

Father Masen looks away swiftly, mutters under his breath.

He's going to be punished for this, later. His punishment will be multi-faceted, self-inflicted.

And he has a feeling it won't do any good.


	8. 17: To err is human to forgive, divine

**SMeyer owns Twilight, I own a tasteless piece of Dubble Bubble I'm still chewing. Cherolyn and Lisa are as awesome as Bubblicious gum.**

The Twilight Twenty-Five  
thetwilight25 dot com  
Prompt: 17 – To err is human; to forgive, divine.  
Pen Name: IcelandGirl812  
Pairing/Character(s): Bella/Edward  
Rating: T

* * *

**17.**

"I didn't mean for this to happen."

He nods, looking right at me.

Killing me.

"I didn't want to hurt you."

"I know."

"I'm so sorry."

"I know, Bella. It's alright."

I turn away from his understanding eyes, unable to bear it.

I want to tell him that I didn't choose this, didn't want this. But that's not true, I suppose. I did this, caused this.

Was with another man.

I cheated on Edward, broke his trust, was unfaithful.

And he understands.

"Bella."

I still can't look.

"I understand, Bella."

The worst part is that I know he truly does.


	9. 11: When life gives you lemons

**Dialogue is fun and cool and I love it. And the same is true with Lisa and Cherolyn.**

The Twilight Twenty-Five  
thetwilight25 dot com  
Prompt: 11 – When life gives you lemons, make lemonade.  
Pen Name: IcelandGirl812  
Pairing/Character(s): Edward/Bella  
Rating: T

* * *

**11.**

"Aren't you a little old for a lemonade stand?"

"I'm broke, okay?"

"Huh."

"Hey, don't judge. I left my job to move here and in with my mother. She has lemon trees in her backyard. Life fucking gave me lemons; this is what I'm doing with them."

"Not a very creative use..."

"Life didn't ask me to be creative. Now buy a lemonade or scram."

"What would you say if I said I'd buy eighty lemonades if I could kiss you?"

"I'd say go fuck yourself with a lemon wedge. ...And come back tonight and take me to dinner first."


	10. 03: Good things come to those who wait

**Doing a dance because this is my third oneshot and that just makes me so happy! Plus, it's my third oneshot and is prompt 3. Such fun.  
**

**Bella embraces her inner kink in this one like I embrace Cherolyn and Lisa for sharing their thoughts with me on all of these pieces.**

The Twilight Twenty-Five  
thetwilight25 dot com  
Prompt: 03 – Good things come to those who wait.  
Pen Name: IcelandGirl812  
Pairing/Character(s): Edward/Bella  
Rating: M-ish

* * *

**03.**

_9:53am_

"So soft. Silky. But hard, too."

"Bella."

"Smooth under my fingers and so luscious feeling..."

He pushes my hand away. "Stop, Bella."

I reach back toward him. "What? Why?"

"_Because._" His voice lowers, gets harsher, rougher, more intense. I swallow and lick my lips. "Because you're turning me on and anyone could walk in here right now, okay?"

I roll my eyes. "Worry-wart. Everyone already knows about us, anyway."

"Yeah, because you," he swats my hand away again, "sent love letters from your company email. You know they check that stuff."

"I don't see why you're still hung up over that. They were bound to find out eventually."

"You sent them to _fabric_, Bella."

"Yes, but," I hold up a finger and point it at him, "fabric you were _wearing_."

"It doesn't matter. Everyone still thinks you're kinky and that I'm crazy for being with you."

I lean toward him, resting my hand back on the inviting material of his pants and slowly kissing his neck. "Because you are."

He groans softly, his hand covering mine on his leg.

"You had to know what would happen when you wore one of my favorites..." I bite his ear gently.

"Bella... not here."

"The meeting doesn't start for another five minutes, Edward."

He angles his head back, looks me right in the eyes. "Five minutes is not enough."

**|T|2|5|**

_12:07pm_

Our lunch break is half an hour long; I think that's long enough, really.

Edward disagrees.

He pins my hands on either side of my head, the wall cold and his palms warm. It's to keep me from grabbing at him, groping.

Persuading.

"Later," he whispers against my skin.

I squirm, try to pull him closer. "I don't want to wait."

"That's what'll make it so good."

He kisses my neck again, mouth open, the scruff on his jaw and chin tickling me.

We're in the seventh floor stairwell, hidden in the blind spot of the security camera. But there's always the possibility of being caught. Maybe that's why I like it so much.

Edward slips one of his legs between mine, the fabric of his pants sliding deliciously against my thigh, against all the skin left bare by my skirt. Making me crazier, making me want him even more.

And he knows it.

He grasps one of my hands in his, guides it to his side. Where I grip the soft, pure seduction of his shirt in my hand and do my best to stifle a moan.

I could never have found a man more perfect for me than Edward. A man as obsessed with impeccable, excellent fabrics as I'm turned on by them. And as accepting of my particular quirks as I am of his.

It's just a shame that he's not into having sex at work.

**|T|2|5|**

_3:29pm_

"Edward, I brought you the..."

The words die in my throat as I enter Edward's office and see him bent over beside his trashcan. He's rooting through it for something, it would seem, but all I see is him.

Correction, his ass.

His perfect, squeezable ass with the fabric of his dress pants pulled delectably tight over it.

My mouth goes dry, my eyes get heavy, and my desire flares even more.

He looks over his shoulder at me, gaze roaming up and down my body for a few heated moments, and smirks. "Bella?"

I don't know what he's doing, but it makes no difference. I know he didn't do it on purpose, that he didn't know I was coming in here just now and orchestrated this. All that really matters is that I'm not naked and he's not in me.

Fuck.

I groan. "Why do you have clear windows in your office?"

He stands up and I groan again. In disappointment. "A better question would be: why don't I have blinds in my office?"

"God, yes."

His hands slip into his pockets, and he smiles this time. Genuine and affectionate. We share a moment, staring at each other and not moving. I'm reminded that this is more than physical, that my attraction to him stems beyond that.

Words aren't said, but his eyes are intense and something warm takes up residence in my body, something different than the warmth of desire.

"Did you have something for me, Bella?" His words break the quiet moment between us, and though they are marginally innocent, his tone is completely indecent.

I shiver and swallow, body tingling as I hold up the sheaf of papers I brought him. He gestures to his desk, and I purposely brush against him as I set the papers there. His sharp inhale makes me smile, my fingers skimming across his wrist as I walk away.

We lock eyes again over my shoulder, and there's a promise in the air between us.

I can't wait until five o'clock.

**|T|2|5|**

_5:11pm_

Edward's driving me home—like I'd be willing to accept anything else—and I'm having a hard time keeping my hands to myself.

"Bella, I can't concentrate."

I rub my hand across his thigh, slow and light, biting my lip.

"I can see that you care."

"Your concentration isn't really my problem, Edward."

"It is if we die in a car crash." He glances over at me, eyebrows up.

Sighing, I retract my hand and mutter, "Party pooper."

He hums, arm reaching toward me, fingers settling on the back of my neck and massaging gently. I lean into his hand and sigh again, this time contentedly.

"Magic fingers," I murmur, eyes closed.

"Give me about twenty minutes and you'll be repeating that."

**|T|2|5|**

_5:42pm_

"No, leave it."

"Bel—"

I grab his hands to stop him from undressing, simultaneously silencing him with a kiss.

He wore one of my favorites, and has teased me all day with that. It's only fair, now that we're at my place and in my bed, that he give me what I want, what I've wanted all day.

What his teasing has had me dreaming about all day.

"Off," I mumble around our kisses.

Because he knows, he reaches between us and undoes the zipper of my skirt, shoves it down my legs. I shuffle and squirm to help him until it's off and he pushes it away.

Free now, I arch and wrap my legs around him, my skin completely bare against the clothes he's still wearing, silky fabric against my softness. I moan into his mouth at the feeling, at getting what I want.

_Finally_.


	11. 02: Tis better to have loved and lost

**Sorry to anyone on alert for the slight spamming today, but I want to get these posted on time without having a marathon of posting the last day. Mini-spams are better than big spams, right?**

**Infinite love and thanks to Lisa and Cherolyn for being sweet and wonderful and invaluable with these.**

The Twilight Twenty-Five  
thetwilight25 dot com  
Prompt: 02 – 'Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.  
Pen Name: IcelandGirl812  
Pairing/Character(s): Bella  
Rating: T

* * *

**02.**

He was a grainy, black and white picture, one I'd never seen before.

Yet I knew him.

_Knew _him.

I knew the shape, curves and contours of his face, knew the way he smelled, what his smile looked like. I knew his body, how his felt on mine. I knew the feel of his skin, the softness of his hair. I knew his voice, the depth of his eyes.

I loved him.

I didn't know how and I didn't know his name, but I knew him, loved him. Missed him.

Sometimes, I think it was my soul that recognized him.


	12. 04: Do as I say, not as I do

**Ms. Meyer owns the characters, I own these pieces. And Cherolyn and Lisa own me because they are the loveliest.**

The Twilight Twenty-Five  
thetwilight25 dot com  
Prompt: 04 – Do as I say, not as I do.  
Pen Name: IcelandGirl812  
Pairing/Character(s): Bella/Edward  
Rating: T

* * *

**04.**

Sitting across from each other in their breakfast nook, both reading, Bella and Edward are having a remarkably humanlike breakfast.

Minus the food.

"Edward?" Bella looks at her husband.

"Yes?"

"Do you remember when you said no biting during sex?"

He studies her now. "I told you, it's too risky. It can wind up permanent if anyone's not careful."

"Mmhmm."

Her easy agreement makes him instantly suspicious. "Why—"

Smoothly, swiftly, Bella lifts her leg onto the table, her robe parting until her inner thigh is completely visible.

As is the perfect mold of Edward's teeth, sunk into her skin.


	13. 06: Don't bite the hand that feeds you

**Yay! Passed the posting halfway point! I wouldn't have been able to make it to this without Lisa and Cherolyn and their help. I adore them.**

The Twilight Twenty-Five  
thetwilight25 dot com  
Prompt: 06 – Don't bite the hand that feeds you.  
Pen Name: IcelandGirl812  
Pairing/Character(s): Bella/Edward  
Rating: T

* * *

**06.**

The group stands in the kitchen, division evident in the space separating them: four women and a man on one side, another man facing them, alone.

Another woman stands in the middle, between sides, hands clasped in front of her. She's looking up at her boyfriend of three years.

His jaw is tight, hands fisted, brows drawn down, mouth set in a firm line.

His eyes are hard.

"I can't believe you're siding with _them_ over me!"

"Edward, baby..." Bella's voice is soft, persuasive.

"You're _my _girlfriend! I mean, what the fuck, Bella!"

He storms out before she can respond.


	14. 12: Once bitten, twice shy

**Cherolyn and Lisa are the best because they read over all these for me and shared all their thoughts. They're absolute treasures.**

The Twilight Twenty-Five  
thetwilight25 dot com  
Prompt: 12 – Once bitten, twice shy.  
Pen Name: IcelandGirl812  
Pairing/Character(s): Bella/Edward  
Rating: T

* * *

**12.**

I poke my head out the door, seeing the coast clear, and quickly step out.

The sides of my robe are clutched tightly in my hands, my shower kit hanging from a wrist.

I'm nervous, heart beating unsteadily.

The last time I showered at night, when I thought I was alone, when I was too careless, I wound up almost dying of embarrassment and mortification.

This time, I'm on guard.

I'm breathing easier once I get to the bathroom, untying my belt when I see no one's around.

"Fancy seeing you here," a smirking voice says from behind.

I scream.


	15. 24: The darkest hour is just before dawn

**SMeyer owns Twilight and has made my life better because of everything I've gained since it. Lisa and Cherolyn make my life better because they exist and because they read things like this for me.**

The Twilight Twenty-Five  
thetwilight25 dot com  
Prompt: 24 – The darkest hour is just before dawn.  
Pen Name: IcelandGirl812  
Pairing/Character(s): Bella  
Rating: T

* * *

**24.**

She tries to run, hide.

He enjoys the game, enjoys her panic and fear.

It's so dark that she can't see, can't find her way. The fear that she is lost gets overshadowed by her fear that she _will _be lost.

Lost to this world, lost to everything and everyone.

He's biding his time, waiting her out.

Hunting her.

She doesn't know much about the stars or sky, but her instincts tell her that it will all end before dawn.

That she will end.

The idea that she might never see a sunrise again is what terrifies her the most.


	16. 13: The grass is always greener

**Lisa is terrific and Cherolyn is brilliant and they are both each of those and both terrbrillificant. I'm just the lucky duck that gets to have them as friends.**

The Twilight Twenty-Five  
thetwilight25 dot com  
Prompt: 13 – The grass is always greener on the other side.  
Pen Name: IcelandGirl812  
Pairing/Character(s): Edward  
Rating: T

* * *

**13.**

Smoke drifts from his mouth, curls around his head, as he watches her.

She drove up in a brand new car, exited wearing Fifth Avenue clothes, carrying her designer backpack.

The posse of friends that greets her is outfitted almost exactly alike.

He's disgusted, in a way. Annoyed. Maybe envious, too. How different would he be treated here at school if his clothes were new, his backpack didn't have holes, his car didn't belch?

A lot differently.

Except...

Yeah. Except.

Except her shoulders are always slumped, eyes downcast. He rarely sees her smile.

Maybe having expensive things isn't really enough.


	17. 16: Mind over matter

**SMeyer would probably be horrified at this. But that's why she owns Twilight and I just play with stuff. Always and forever love and thanks to Cherolyn and Lisa for being beautiful and reading all of these T25s.**

The Twilight Twenty-Five  
thetwilight25 dot com  
Prompt: 16 – Mind over matter.  
Pen Name: IcelandGirl812  
Pairing/Character(s): Bella  
Rating: M

* * *

**16.**

I hate masturbating in the summer.

I get all hot and sticky and all I want is a shower. But I can't _take_ one because I would wake up not just my brother—which is mortifying enough, mind you—but my dad, my brother's girlfriend and probably our hamster, too.

And then everyone would know my dirty little secret.

I, Bella Swan, actually masturbate.

I pleasure myself.

I get myself off at night.

I flick _my bean_.

It just sucks that the messy aftermath is the price for my secret.

But a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.


	18. 15: Fight fire with fire

**Lisa and Cherolyn are wonderful and helpful and damn speedy, too. I love them.**

The Twilight Twenty-Five  
thetwilight25 dot com  
Prompt: 15 – Fight fire with fire.  
Pen Name: IcelandGirl812  
Pairing/Character(s): Bella/Edward  
Rating: T

* * *

**15.**

Edward Cullen TP'ed her car. Put dozens of eggs in her locker. Hung her underwear on the flagpole. And superglued the seat of her homeroom chair.

Now, Bella Swan is out for revenge.

She's waiting in his room, partially unclothed, a webcam atop his computer.

It's the perfect idea, the perfect way to embarrass him by broadcasting his inabilities with women—which she overheard from his friends—followed by her rejection.

At least, she thinks it's the perfect plan until Edward Cullen walks in, wearing only boxers, water droplets gleaming on his skin, muscles evident.

And Bella realizes she's screwed.


	19. 05: No pain, no gain

**SMeyer owns Twilight, and I own this piece. My thanks to Cherolyn and Lisa probably seems redundant by this point, but I just have _so_ much to be thankful for when it comes to them! They're the bestest.**

The Twilight Twenty-Five  
thetwilight25 dot com  
Prompt: 05 – No pain, no gain.  
Pen Name: IcelandGirl812  
Pairing/Character(s): Bella  
Rating: T

* * *

**05.**

It hurts.

I hurt.

Everything hurts.

Someone set me on fire, and I claw at my skin, trying to put the fire out.

Except it's inside me. Every cell inside my body is ablaze, incinerating.

The burn is intense, agonizing. _Excruciating_.

Nothing in my human life could rival this. I once thought removing my wisdom teeth was the worst pain I'd ever known, but that was a pebble in my shoe compared to this.

I can't believe _no one_ thought to mention such pain.

But even that thought doesn't distract me from the flames eating me alive, literally killing me.


	20. 20: The bigger they are

**Heh. Chapter 20 and prompt 20. I didn't even do that one on purpose. And t****his piece is set at Christmastime, so bear with me, haha.**  


**Lisa and Cherolyn: I love you two. You're pure awesome.**

The Twilight Twenty-Five  
thetwilight25 dot com  
Prompt: 20 – The bigger they are, the harder they fall.  
Pen Name: IcelandGirl812  
Pairing/Character(s): Edward/Bella  
Rating: M-ish

* * *

**20.**

The lights glow across her skin, painting her in gentle yellow, red, blue, green. Her skin is soft under me, and I kiss across the streaks of color, worshipping her slowly, lovingly.

_I love her_.

It's not surprising, but it is.

A feeling has been flowing through me for months, and now it sings; the feeling has a name—it is recognized, embraced.

My body hums, wanting her, my love—_love_—even more than before.

She arches, responding, and now her face is bathed in colored light from the tree. Her eyes are open, watching me.

_She loves me, too_.


	21. 22: Ignorance is bliss

**What? My fourth oneshot for this challenge? Oh, don't mind me. I'm just singing and dancing in celebration. :D A****nd this one is also set during the Christmas season. I know it's almost February but... yeah. Yeah.**  


**Lisa and Cherolyn win medals for sweetness and helpfulness. They're truly wonderful.**

The Twilight Twenty-Five  
thetwilight25 dot com  
Prompt: 22 – Ignorance is bliss.  
Pen Name: IcelandGirl812  
Pairing/Character(s): Bella/Edward  
Rating: hint-o-M

* * *

**22.**

One of Bella's favorite songs blares through the buds in her ears, shutting out every other sound. Transporting her.

She pours the melted butter into the bowl in front of her, hips keeping up a beat to the music only she can hear.

Her right hand aches from mixing the thick dough, from a full day of stirring in every single one of her favorite Christmas recipes. But she ignores the ache, because it's a good ache. Because it's an ache that signifies a special kind of peace, reminds her of how happy baking makes her. How soothing it is.

She stares at the batter, at how it's not quite thick enough yet, not coming together as it should.

_Needs more powdered sugar_, she thinks.

She turns from the counter, spoon still in hand, apron flaring out from her legs, toward the cabinet that houses all her most common baking ingredients.

And drops her favorite wooden mixing spoon on the floor.

The best friend of her housemate's boyfriend is sitting on her counter. Eating the sugar cookies that came out of the oven about ten minutes ago.

Her mouth is open and she can't think; he's chewing, legs dangling but almost touching the floor, and his eyes are fixed on her.

She yanks on the wire hanging in front of her chest, the earbuds flying out of her ears, music still faintly heard.

"Edward." Her eyes narrow. "What are you doing?"

"Eating." He punctuates it by grabbing another cookie and taking a bite.

"How long have you been here?"

He shrugs, shoving the other half of the Christmas tree cookie into his mouth.

"You could have said something!"

"Tried to. You didn't hear me."

She looks down at the headphones still connected to the player in her pocket. Quickly, efficiently, she wraps them around her fingers until they resemble a sloppy ball, and shoves them in her pocket.

"You could have tapped me on the shoulder or something to let me know you were here." Her tone is snapping and she's frowning, annoyed.

"I saw the cookies, and..." He trails off as he grabs another.

"Hey hey!" She immediately covers the distance between them and smacks at his hand.

He grins and snags a snowman cookie despite her slapping.

She resorts to glaring at him. "What are you doing here, anyway?"

"Kate invited me."

"Bitch," she mutters under her breath, but they both know there's no venom behind it. "Why didn't she tell me you were coming?"

"Guess she knows just how much you like surprises."

Bella doesn't. Or, at least, she doesn't like most surprises.

"Where are they?" She looks toward the side of the kitchen that leads to the living room, not seeing Kate or her boyfriend, Garrett.

"Why so many questions, Bella?"

She turns back to Edward and resumes glaring. "That's not an answer."

"Hmm." He grabs another cookie, and she thinks he's probably eaten half the batch by now.

There's a special kind of hatred she has for this man, although perhaps hatred is too strong a word. Intense dislike? Whatever it is, she knows he's the only one who drives her this crazy, who makes her act like this.

It's the kind of dislike that comes from a visceral, unwanted attraction: she's attracted to him but doesn't want to be, and so the mere sight of him annoys her. She pretends she doesn't know this, though. Pretends that her blood doesn't hum when he's around, that her body isn't acutely aware of every move he makes.

She attributes all of it to her intense dislike of him. And ignoring the _why_ of her dislike is essential. Like now, for instance, where she's cataloging his steady consumption of her cookies _that he didn't ask if he could have_.

Maybe that's causing her irritation right now. Or maybe it's the motion of his lips as he chews, how it makes her muscles clench.

Maybe it's the movement of his jaw accentuating the stubble shadowing it, and how that makes her want to run her fingers over it.

Maybe it's the way he's sitting, his body on full display, and how it makes her want to be closer, to step between his legs and fit herself to him.

Maybe it's the clean, masculine smell of him assaulting her senses, how it makes her want to lean into him, kiss his neck, breathe him in.

Maybe it's his eyes, the way they follow her—see her, the intensity in them mixed with the playfulness and how she wants to drown in his gaze.

But no. No. It's definitely how many of her cookies he's eating, without ever bothering to ask if it was okay. It's how he never answers her questions the way she wants him to. It's how she can never figure him out, can never predict what he'll do or what he'll say.

She hates surprises, after all. And he's always surprising her.

Infuriating.

"Bella? Earth to Bella." He waves a hand in front of her face, and she steps back quickly.

She hadn't noticed how close she was standing to him.

"What?" She swallows and blinks, fights the urge to lick her lips.

He smiles, like he knows what she's thinking, what she's feeling, what she has to tell herself she doesn't want. Like he _knows_.

"Oh, nothing."

God, there he goes again. Not answering her questions. "Again, that's not an answer."

"Isn't it?"

"No, it's not."

Her hands shake, with the urge to strangle him and slap that smile off his lips. Or with the urge to pull him toward her and run her fingers through his hair.

She chooses to ignore the latter.

"Your cookies are delicious."

She's off-guard, unbalanced. "Th-thanks."

"What else are you making?"

Half-turning over her shoulder, she remembers the dough sitting in a bowl on the counter, the sugar she was going to get. "One of my favorite recipes."

There. Maybe he'll like a taste of his own medicine of questions unanswered.

But he only nods, a half-smile on his lips, his eyes on her. "I bet you have a lot of great recipes."

It feels like he's saying more than his words are, but she's too distracted by the fact that the sugar is in the cabinet directly behind him.

"I do," she says absently, trying her best to remember what they're talking about. "I collect recipes like others collect..." She can't think of anything people collect.

She almost wanted to say _like you collect girls' numbers_ but she hasn't actually heard anything to that effect about him. It's just what she wants to be true, what she wants to be able to add to reasons why she should dislike him.

No, why she _does_ dislike him.

Remembering her neglected dough again, she turns around and bends down, picking up the dropped spoon. She tries to ignore him as she stands at the sink and washes the spoon, but there's something about his presence that is unavoidable, silently loud. The air seems to be charged when he's around.

How did she not notice it the second he walked in earlier?

She shakes her head and returns to her unfinished dough, but she still needs that damn sugar.

And he's in the way.

She'll either have to ask him to move, or... No. She'll just ask him to move. Make him move. That's all.

In her head, she practices the exact words she'll use to tell him to move. She's washed and rinsed the spoon about five times by now.

"Hey, Bella," his voice is low, not hushed, but low. And close.

She turns around too abruptly, flinging water from the spoon still in her hand; he flinches and droplets of water roll down his cheek, jaw, neck.

God help her, but she wants to lick them off.

"Bella."

She looks back to his eyes, and finally sees that he's holding something above his head—a cookie.

A _mistletoe_ cookie.

She doesn't say anything, but she doesn't turn away, either. He edges closer and braces a hand against the counter by her hip, crowding her. Enveloping her.

"Merry Christmas, Bella," he whispers.

Reason flees from her mind, leaving reaction in its wake.

Later, she'll tell herself that there's only so much a woman can be expected to handle before she and her hormones have had enough.

The spoon clatters on the floor before she can start to think again. Her hands fist in his shirt, dragging him closer, as her body lifts onto her toes until she reaches his mouth.

She might not know it right then, but it's the best kiss she's ever had, tingles and fireworks and pure chemistry.

She pulls him closer, tighter, as she presses her body to his, riding the wave of energy and attraction.

And she's not the only one.

He's into it, too, pressing back against her as much as she is.

His mouth is amazing, soft and responsive, and she can't wait to feel it on every part of her. She hitches her leg around him to try and silently communicate that, his hands finding her butt and squeezing, lifting her onto the counter. He's immediately between her legs, his body tall and fitting her just right. Wrapping both legs around him, she uses them to pull him as close as possible through their clothes.

She pulls back from his mouth and warns, "This doesn't mean I like you."

"Absolutely," he agrees, kissing her again.


	22. 09: Practice makes perfect

**This actually wound up about 300 words at first, so after the challenge I'm going to share it in its entirety just because. :)**

**Lisa and Cherolyn deserve all the smooches and hugs for going through this with me. They're amazing.**

The Twilight Twenty-Five  
thetwilight25 dot com  
Prompt: 09 – Practice makes perfect.  
Pen Name: IcelandGirl812  
Pairing/Character(s): Esme, Edward  
Rating: T

* * *

**09.**

"I love you. Most ardently."

"No no no." The director, Esme, flutters onstage. Her hair has escaped its neat bun, although her smart outfit is still perfect. "Edward, I need more emotion. More passion."

She waves her hands enthusiastically.

"Make me _feel_ it." Edward, the only experienced male who tried out for the role, nods quickly. "And for god's sake, Edward, you're supposed to be British."

He ignores that. The accent isn't difficult, he just has a hard time concentrating. "I'm sorry, Esme. It's not exactly easy to profess my undying love for..." He trails off, gesturing toward his co-star.


	23. 07: Fools rush in where angels fear

**My last drabble! After this it's just two oneshots.**

**Cherolyn and Lisa are lovely and wonderful and so very helpful. Love them.  
**

The Twilight Twenty-Five  
thetwilight25 dot com  
Prompt: 07 – Fools rush in where angels fear to tread.  
Pen Name: IcelandGirl812  
Pairing/Character(s): Bella/Edward  
Rating: K

* * *

**07.**

The beeping tone of my phone wakes me up.

Half-awake, I roll over and check it; the number is the newest one in my phone, one I got last night.

Edward.

_Are you busy?_ the text message says.

I'm smiling widely like a fool, wanting nothing more than to be busy because of him.

_What'd you have in mind?_ I reply.

_Breakfast_.

_You mean like… a breakfast date?_

There's a long pause, making me frown and worry that I said something wrong.

_Uh is that weird?_

The ridiculous smile returns, and now I can't wait see him.

_Not at all_.


	24. 18: Patience is a virtue

**This piece was such fun to write. I know I can always count on The Twilight Twenty-Five challenge to teach me something about myself, make me think about things in different ways, and to be amazing fun.**

**Endless love and thanks to Lisa for being so honest and brilliant (especially when it came to this piece), and to Cherolyn for being so wonderful and a steady rock.  
**

The Twilight Twenty-Five  
thetwilight25 dot com  
Prompt: 18 – Patience is a virtue.  
Pen Name: IcelandGirl812  
Pairing/Character(s): Edward/Bella  
Rating: M

* * *

**18.**

Edward's phone rings, startling him as it blasts out a Journey song specific to this caller.

"Hello?" he answers, although he already knows who it is.

"_Edward, it's Bella._"

He grins, shifting in his seat at the booth, getting more comfortable. Edward is out with his friends, all male, and he's had a couple drinks already; he's feeling pleasantly buzzed and masculine. And, although Bella is one of his closest friends, she's also a very pretty woman.

All of Edward's friends tonight know this, as well as knowing that Bella is off limits because Edward likes her.

As more than just a friend.

Already having some idea of what Bella will say and knowing the reaction he'll get because of it, Edward smirks at his friends and puts his phone on speaker.

"Hi, Bella," Edward says, motioning to his friends to quiet down. "What's up?"

"_Edward, I need you._"

"What?" But Edward is grinning at his friends and waggling his eyebrows—he heard her.

"_I _need_ you, Edward._"

"Okay, I'll be right there."

"_Hurry,_" Bella implores before hanging up.

Edward laughs and puffs up a bit, a side effect of the alcoholic buzz and all the testosterone of the group. "See? What'd I tell you guys?" All his friends laugh, although no one knows what he really means because he hasn't told them anything. Edward doesn't notice, or care, though.

"She sounded desperate, man!" one of his friends says, elbowing him meaningfully and winking.

Edward slides out of the booth, still grinning. "Yeah, she did. Gotta go take care of her."

He leaves his friends with goodbyes and promises to catch up at the universal, indefinite time of _later_. Outside, he catches a cab and tells the driver Bella's address, settling into the seat as numerous fantasies play out in his head.

Bella, answering her door naked.

Bella, answering her door in a sexy scrap of lace and pulling him inside, pulling him into her.

Bella, walking in front of him, leading him to her bedroom.

Bella, undressing him, touching him, kissing him.

Bella, under him, over him, beside him, surrounding him.

_Bella, Bella, Bella._

He has to adjust himself after he steps out of the cab and pays the driver, his fantasies affecting him; they replay over and over in his head, whirling visions and images and emotions.

He doesn't think he's drunk, and he hasn't had enough alcohol that he stumbles on the steps up to Bella's door, but he does forget that she has a doorbell. At first, he worries his knock is too quiet, so he tries again, louder. His hand is raised for a third time when the door swings open.

Bella, in a hoodie partially zipped, a white tank top showing underneath it, and Dr. Seuss pajama bottoms.

It's not what he imagined, but Edward shrugs and steps forward, thinking she looks hot no matter what she wears.

"Thank god you're here!"

Edward nods, eyes trailing downward. She's barefoot, and, while he's seen her barefoot hundreds upon hundreds of times, something about it this time strikes him as intimate, sexy. She's shorter because she's barefoot, though, and he imagines how light she'd be to pick up. How her pale, beautiful legs would wrap around him, how her hips would feel under his hands, how soft her curves would be.

Her hair is up, gathered into a messy pile atop her head, and he imagines taking it down, her dark brown hair falling past her shoulders, the careless waves he's always loved sliding through his fingers.

He imagines unzipping her hoodie—slowly, so slowly—and kissing her shoulder, slipping a hand under the fabric of her shirt, feeling her stomach, her sides, her softness. What would her skin feel like against his? What would it be like to touch her? He pictures his hands drifting to her back, his palms and fingers spreading to touch as much of her at once as he can, his arms pulling her closer to him, her back arching in welcome, in want.

"Come in, come in!" Bella grabs his hand, breaking him from his delicious thoughts as she tugs him inside quickly. "I'm so glad you're here."

Edward smiles to himself.

"I had no one else to call that could help me," Bella continues.

Slowly, almost belatedly, Edward notices that Bella's house is a lot cleaner than he last saw it. She's not a slob by any means, but the hardwood floors are sparkling, artificial scents are tickling his nose, and there doesn't seem to be even a sliver of dust on _any _surface.

That's what strikes him the most, the lack of dust; he knows how much Bella hates dusting, and how rarely she does it.

Internally, Edward groans. The fantasies slip away, as does his pleasant buzz.

Bella's in one of her cleaning frenzies.

"Come on, Edward." She tugs on his hand harder, her body angled toward the kitchen.

Edward allows her to pull him along, reluctant now.

She drops his hand once they're in the kitchen and heads straight for the stove.

"You get the left, okay?" She grabs the side of the stove and bends her knees, bracing.

Edward doesn't move.

When she's stressed out, she cleans. Like a maniac. Every surface is cleaned, every crevice, every edge. Every floor, every rug, every corner. She's like the Grinch, but instead of presents she's taking dirt and dust.

It's usually only at night, because she'll be too tired from the stress to sleep or unwind, so she'll clean. Her episodes have been known to last at least three days, though. Edward experienced that only once, and it was a special kind of hell that he chooses to try and never remember.

"Edward! Stop dilly-dallying!" Bella gets into position again, still waiting for him.

He steps warily toward the stove, wondering if she'll make him help her clean behind it once they've moved it.

God, he hopes not.

He hopes she just lets him sit on her counter and watch her bend over, lets him get back to his fantasies.

"Ready?" he asks, really only asking her out of formality because he knows, from experience, that he doesn't need her help to move the stove.

"Yeah," she answers. Her voice is breathless from, he imagines, excitement. Bella's the only woman he's ever known that gets into such a state where she's _excited_ for something new to clean.

He imagines what it would be like to hear her breathless for an entirely different, and altogether more enjoyable, reason.

Sighing, Edward gives her the go-ahead nod and, together, they wiggle the stove out of its slot between counters and cabinets.

Bella dusts her hands off when they're done and beams at him. "Thanks, Edward."

"Anytime." He nods toward her fridge. "Can I?"

"Of course," she waves him off, already heading toward her stash of cleaning supplies on the floor and counter.

Edward bypasses the beer in her fridge, grabbing a container of juice instead, getting a cup from her cabinet, and pouring himself a full glass. He settles onto the counter beside her fridge, glass in hand, and prepares to watch her.

She putters around for a minute through her array of cleaning stuff before snapping her fingers and heading for the cabinet under her sink. Edward hides a smile behind his glass as she crouches in front of the cabinet and begins digging through it.

_Damn, but she has a great ass_, he thinks to himself.

"Got it!" she shouts, standing back up with a bottle in her hand.

"What?" he asks, mostly to be nice and not because he's actually concerned with whatever she's found.

"My degreaser." At his vacant stare, she gestures toward the wall behind the stove. "To get the grease off from where it splattered whenever I fried anything."

Edward nods, and, satisfied he understands, she turns back to the stove.

He watches her as she starts to clean, and can't help but wonder what it is that brought on this frenzy, or if she wants to talk about it. He knows it's not always just stress that brings this on, that she cleans like this when she's sexually frustrated, too.

But she doesn't know that he knows that.

Setting his empty glass aside, he grips the edge of the counter on either side of him. "So what's wrong?"

"Hmm?" She doesn't even glance at him.

"Bella. What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she mumbles.

"_Nothing_ doesn't make you go ape shit on the dirt, baby."

She ignores him, but he gives her time. Eventually, her shoulders droop and she comes out from behind the stove.

"I just... I can't..." Bella waves the cleaning rag in her hand, still not looking at him. "It doesn't... I'm not..." She sighs, too weighty and burdened of a sound, and slides to the floor, looking so helpless that he can't stand it.

He goes to her, squatting in front of her and putting comforting hands on her knees. He doesn't say anything, waiting for her to talk.

When she looks up at him—biting the corner of her lip, her forehead creased, her eyes so expressive—Edward has to swallow, his eyes closing. _Oh boy_. He's pretty sure now that it's not stress making her clean. He opens his eyes again, and knows it's the other cause.

Bella is sexually frustrated.

Oh god.

"Edward? Are you okay?"

He swallows again, his hands leaving her legs as he falls back to sit across from her. "Yeah, of course." He only pats her knee this time, but the gesture still doesn't seem the same, because now he's only thinking about her skin and how warm she is, how he thinks he can almost feel her through the fabric of her pants.

She smiles at him, genuine and beautiful, and he wonders what the night will bring, if he can make her scream his name, if he will.

"The question, though," he continues, to distract himself, "is if you're okay."

Bella looks down, shrugs, and doesn't answer.

Edward sighs, but covers it up with a clap of his hands. "Alright then. What's next to clean?"

Her whole face seems to brighten up at the mention of cleaning, and he shakes his head at the nuttiness.

"We could move my entertainment center and vacuum under it."

He only stares.

Her entertainment center would take probably three guys to move.

"Okay, well," she forges on, "you could get the ladder out of my attic and we could clean my gutters."

"It's ten at night, Bella."

"Right."

There's a pause as she thinks and he watches her. There's one idea that she hasn't mentioned, and he's reluctant to point it out simply because it'll mean work, and torture, for him.

_I guess this is what friends are for_, he thinks, and throws himself under the bus.

"You can come over to my place and go at it, if you want."

She lights up again, and his heart gives a painful squeeze—in terror or in awe of her beauty, he's not sure. Or maybe in terror _of_ his awe of her beauty.

"Really?"

He nods, and she scrambles up quickly, excited again. And distracted now from whatever's bothering her and causing this particular cleaning spree.

Edward sighs, knowing that at some point in the night while they're cleaning, she'll get to talking about it. He just has to wait her out. Whether he'll want to hear about why she's so frustrated and why it's making her clean is another story, though.

"Edward?" She's standing in the doorway of her kitchen, looking expectantly over her shoulder at him. "Are you coming?"

_Not likely_, he mutters to himself, but gets up anyway and follows her out.


	25. 23: The road to hell

**THE LAST ONE! And it's also my _sixth_ oneshot! :D I'm so proud of myself for that, seriously. I never thought I'd manage to have even three oneshots for a T25, forget about double that.**

**Lisa and Cherolyn... you both have been amazing help with this. I don't think I'd have finished, and I know I wouldn't be able to be as satisfied with the final pieces, without you two. I'll love y'all forever, I'll like y'all for always.**

The Twilight Twenty-Five  
thetwilight25 dot com  
Prompt: 23 – The road to hell is paved with good intentions.  
Pen Name: IcelandGirl812  
Pairing/Character(s): Bella/Edward  
Rating: M (mostly for situations/themes)

* * *

**23.**

"What are you doing, Isabella?" His voice is low, dark, laced with an edge. Dangerous.

"What?" I am innocent, simple, naïve. Or trying to be.

He looks down at me, my body, at where I have purposely forgotten to put a bra on with my dress, where I'm leaning so close to him that my breast rubs against his arm.

I scoot away, looking down, fidgeting, putting on an air of chagrin and rejection.

This is my only chance, my one shot. I'm not powerful enough to overthrow him alone, forget about the other two. No, other _one_. Hope burns through me when I remember that the third injured himself, accidentally took himself out and is now unconscious upstairs.

"Isabella," he says again, fingers deftly, nimbly buttoning the cuff of his suit.

I look up at him but don't move my head. The effect my eyes have in this position is, or so I've been told, nearly irresistible. Without taking my gaze off him, I slowly inch closer across the edge of the bed.

If I can distract him, that would leave only the woman guarding my little brother and sister. And I've noticed, since the injury of the other man, that the woman is more distracted, less focused. If I could somehow signal Emily and Garrett, there's a possibility that they could take the woman down on their own.

It's a slim possibility, and I don't really know what all the factors are—if they're trained in hand-to-hand combat, if there are more weapons than what are visible—but it's all I have. And I have to do something before we get to my father's wedding, before there are too many people, too many hostages, too many lives.

Before there's no time left.

I've seen their faces, each of them, and so have Emily and Garrett. I've seen things like this on TV and read about them, but, beyond that, I've overheard enough from my father, his illicit dealings, to know what it means when there are no masks.

And to know what happens in the end when there are no masks.

Which reinforces how little time I have, and that I have to do _something_.

I'm jolted back to myself when the man's fingers brush my cheek, my jaw, my chin. I don't flinch, but only just barely manage to stop myself from doing it.

His name hasn't been said, either by himself or the others, and I think, if nothing else, perhaps I can get a name out of this. I don't know what good a name might do, but I'm grasping at anything, everything, to keep the hysteria at bay. To keep the fear away.

He leans closer, his eyes just as intense as they've been since the first moment he burst into my home. I try to distract myself by thinking that his eyes are a beautiful shade of green. That his lips are full and his jaw strong. That the suit he's wearing now is perfectly cut and tailored to his body. That his body is nice, fit and lean, with broad shoulders and probably a good seven or eight inches of height on me. That he is attractive.

The thoughts on his body only serve to remind me what a hard time I'll have taking him down. I'm not exactly half his size, but I'm close enough to it that fear, dread, and sadness begin to overshadow my hope.

"Isabella," he repeats, his voice still low but lacking the force, the edge, that it had before.

I shift my eyes away from his mouth, idly thinking that, with all the information he had on us, everything he had to know to be able to pull this off so far, he doesn't even know how much I don't like anyone calling me by my full name.

"Yes," I breathe. Not a question.

His eyes are on mine, his fingers are still on me, under my chin. The feel of his skin against mine is smoother than I'd have thought for someone like him, his hands not callused or hard. It's almost distracting enough.

Almost.

He kisses me—softer than I'd expected, gentle, not rough at all—and I can feel everything but I can't feel anything.

I cultivate a little moaning, whimpering noise as I grab the sides of his suit jacket and pull him closer. He gives in, of course, one hand sliding to the nape of my neck and the other going to the small of my back. He urges me closer with just a little pressure against my back, and angles me open for him with his hand on my neck.

He's a good kisser.

Later, I'll be ashamed and hateful of this fact, but I don't control the moan that escapes me when his tongue touches mine. Nor do I control myself when I push into him, getting my legs onto the bed and straddling him. His hands shift, touching me everywhere but not anywhere for long enough.

My body is reacting, not thinking, and soon I'll hate myself.

I pull away and kiss his jaw, his neck, his throat, listening to his harsh breath as one of his hands slides under the hem of my dress. He takes my mouth again as his other hand cups my breast. His thumb passes over my nipple, and I grind down onto him in reflex. He's hard, his breath stuttering out of him as I make contact.

"Oh jesus, boss!" a female voice interrupts in a screech of surprise, indignation, or irritation—I can't be sure which. "For fuck's sake."

He freezes under me, eyes no longer focused on me or even closed anymore. He's looking over my shoulder, at the woman, I'm presuming. But I can't look, because I know my little brother and sister are likely with her, and I can't bear to see their faces, their horror. Their fear.

Instead, I'm staring at the gun on the bed beside us. _His_ gun.

Oh god. I hate myself.


End file.
